


Mortal Enemies

by Kiraly



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: "Mortal Enemies", Conflict Resolution, Cookies, Gen, language barriers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:58:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiraly/pseuds/Kiraly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emil worries that his early treatment of Reynir will cause a rift in the team. He thinks he knows a way to make amends, but he'll need help to do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mortal Enemies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tanist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tanist/gifts).



> This is my contribution to the first ever SSSS Forum Fic Exchange! I'm filling the following prompt for Róisín (Tanist on AO3). I hope you like it!
> 
>  **Prompt:** Emil is concerned that the 'mortal enemies' thing with Reynir is going to fester and spoil the team's ability to work together. He enlists Tuuri's help to sort the problem out. He runs into the language barrier, Reynir's puppyish obliviousness, and Lalli's puzzled incomprehension. Not to mention Sigrun's enthusiasm and Mikkel's sense of humour. Humorous confusion ensues.
> 
> Note: Whenever someone speaks a language Emil doesn't understand, their speech will be in italics. Emil's internal dialog is also in italics. Hopefully it's not confusing! 

_The problem with sentry duty,_ Emil thought, running his hand over the barrel of the flamethrower, _is that it gives you far too much time to think._

After the recent excitement with trolls, giants, and “ghosts”, they’d decided to take a few days to recover. That meant light duty for most of the crew, and Emil was relegated to standing guard against unwanted visitors. Which was a relief, in some ways—it was nice to not be constantly at risk of getting eaten by a troll. But now that things had calmed down, anxieties he hadn’t thought about in weeks were resurfacing.

A burst of laughter drifted over from the tank, followed by a stream of Icelandic babble. Emil spared a glance back—just a glance, he wasn’t going to shirk his important task—and saw Reynir doubled over with mirth. Tuuri was laughing too but trying to cover it, and even Mikkel showed a trace of a smile before turning back to his cooking. Emil frowned. _What’s so funny? It’s not fair, those three making jokes in a language no one else understands!_ His indignation subsided a little when he remembered that Reynir couldn’t exactly joke in any other language, but just as quickly a cold thread of fear crawled into the pit of his stomach. _What if they’re laughing at me?_ He didn’t think Tuuri would, but Mikkel had already shown a tendency to joke about things that weren’t funny. And Reynir...well.

_He seems so open and friendly to everyone. But how is that possible? Doesn’t he remember the horrible way I treated him when we met?_

Emil still squirmed with shame when he thought about that day. The clueless Icelander had just found himself stranded in the Silent World, and he, Emil, had made everything worse by treating Reynir like a prisoner. Yet another failed first impression. By the time he’d realized his mistake, it was too late—he and Reynir were mortal enemies. Even though the Icelander never gave any sign of it, Emil was sure that deep down Reynir resented him.

 _I wonder why he’s waiting so long to get me back? He doesn’t seem like someone who would plan some elaborate revenge...but maybe that’s what he wants me to think! Or maybe he won’t do anything. He’ll just nurse his grudge and get angrier and angrier until it explodes!_ Emil was no stranger to explosions; he knew anyone standing too close was likely to get hurt. A falling-out between him and Reynir would divide the team, and that would derail the mission faster than an angry giant. And it would be all Emil’s fault. Unless...maybe there was a way to stop it. Emil glanced back at his laughing crewmates again, and a plan started to form. It _might_ work—and if it did, he could fix everything. But he was going to need some help.

 

* * *

 

 

“So, wait...you want me to do _what?”_ Tuuri looked up from her book with one eyebrow raised.

Emil sighed. “Can you just ask him? I know it sounds strange, but...it’s important.”

Tuuri shook her head. “I’ll ask, but I don’t know what he’ll say.” She pushed away from the desk and stretched, then headed for the sleeping quarters. A moment later, Emil could hear the soft rise and fall of words he couldn’t understand. A reply came in the same language, and Tuuri spoke again, more urgently. The other speaker cut her off. Tuuri came back through the door, shaking her head. “He said no. And now he’s annoyed.”

“What?! No, he can’t refuse, that will ruin everything!” Emil shoved past her and crouched down to peer under the bunk. “Lalli? I know you can’t understand me, but I really need your help!”

A pair of ice-blue eyes blinked blearily at him, then Lalli emerged from his alcove. He muttered what sounded like a question at Tuuri, who had followed Emil into the room.

“He wants to know why you need it so badly,” she translated.

Emil’s shoulders slumped. He hadn’t wanted to drag the others into this, but apparently he had no choice. “I...need it for Reynir. I have to keep him from hating me, or he’ll explode! I had a plan to fix things between us, but if I can’t get this then I don’t know if it will work.”

Tuuri stared. “You think Reynir... _hates_ you?”

Emil glared back. “Don’t laugh, it’s not funny! I’ve already noticed him giving me some funny looks. It’s going to get really bad if I can’t find a way to mend things!”

She had her hands over her mouth, but from the redness of Tuuri’s face and the choking sounds she was making, it was clear she was just barely keeping it together. “You actually...you think he...ahaha, I’m sorry, it’s just...Reynir?” She dissolved into a fit of giggling.

Lalli reiterated his demand for information, and Tuuri had to wipe her eyes and translate.

_“He says he...haha..needs it for Reynir.”_

_“What?”_ Lalli looked from Tuuri to Emil and shook his head. _“Why?”_

Tuuri was still laughing. _“He thinks it will...hehehe...keep Reynir from...ahaha...exploding!”_

Lalli’s confused expression settled into a frown. _“If you’re going to make weird jokes, wait until I’m awake.”_ He flattened himself and rolled back under the bed.

Emil didn’t know what had just happened, but he saw a key element of his plan slipping away. “No, wait, Lalli!” He looked at Tuuri. “What did you say to him?”

“I only said what you told me!” Tuuri said, indignant. At another mutter from under the bed, she added, “and anyway, Lalli says he doesn’t have any more. You’re going to have to get them from somewhere else.” She stood up and brushed herself off. “Now if you’re done wasting my time, I have a lot of books to transcribe.”

Emil got to his feet and grabbed Tuuri’s arm. “Wait, please don’t go! I really am serious, I need to find a way to make things right between Reynir and me. We can’t afford to let it go on like this!”

Tuuri rolled her eyes, but she didn’t pull away. “Fine. I’ll help you, but if anyone asks I do _not_ buy into your crazy delusion, okay? I’m only going along with this to keep you from doing something insane.”

Emil heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks! Do you think I should—”

A cheerful voice interrupted him. _“Emil! Hey, Tuuri, did you tell him about the thing from earlier? I wanted to show him—”_

Tuuri cut off Reynir’s excited babble. _“Hang on, Emil’s in the middle of something. I’ll translate for you later, okay?”_ She turned back to Emil, who was eyeing Reynir warily. “You _really_ think he…? You know what, never mind. Look, I’ll keep him distracted for a while. _You_ should go get what you need for this ‘plan’ of yours.”

Emil’s eyebrows wrinkled. “But...if Lalli doesn’t have any, then…”

“Then you go directly to the source,” Tuuri said. A wicked grin tugged at her lips. “I can’t _wait_ to hear what you tell _him.”_

 

* * *

 

 

As it turned out, Emil didn’t have time to tell Mikkel anything before the stoic dane denied his request. “Can’t do it.”

“But...but…” Emil sputtered, “it would be such a...morale boost! Aren’t you supposed to be concerned about our health?”

Mikkel snorted. “Yes, and I fail to see how your request would significantly improve the health of anyone on this team.”

“Umm...but what about…” inspiration struck “...Lalli?”

“Lalli?” Mikkel raised an eyebrow.

“Yes! He’s so thin, and probably needs to get his strength back, right? So he needs to eat more. And you know he hardly likes anything! Not that I’m criticizing your cooking, of course!” Emil added hurriedly.

“Mm. You may have a point. But alas, I still can’t help you. I’m missing an ingredient.”

Emil’s face fell. “Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense...if we don’t have enough flour or something you can’t really—”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. You could probably find it for me, actually,” Mikkel said. He finished pinning the last of the laundry up to dry and wiped his hands on his apron. “Of course, you’d have to get Sigrun’s permission to go out hunting it.”

Hope rose in Emil’s chest. “Really? I can do that! What do you need?”

For a moment it almost looked like Mikkel was smiling. “Get me some squirrels.”

“Some...WHAT?” Emil’s jaw dropped.

“Yes, you heard me. I need squirrels. At least three, but four or five would be better.”

Emil was still staring. “And you put those in COOKIES?”

The almost-smile crossed Mikkel’s face again. “Oh, yes. Secret ingredient.”

Emil shuddered. “Ugh! I had no idea...but if you’re sure you need them…”

“I do.”

“All right, then.” Emil squared his shoulders. “I’ll talk to Sigrun.”

He gave the tank a wide berth on his way to the cookfire—Reynir was sitting in the front seat next to Tuuri, and he kept waving and trying to catch Emil’s eye. _I have to stay away from him until I fix this! It’s only a matter of time before he remembers how much he hates me and decides to drop that friendly act of his. I have to stick to the plan!_

 

* * *

 

He’d expected the captain to ask at least a few questions, but after days of sitting idle to let her arm heal Sigrun was itching for action. “Squirrels, you say? Can’t see why he’d want those instead of something bigger, but there’s good eating on a squirrel. Come on, let’s go!” She sprang to her feet and shouldered her gun. “Fuzzy-head, Freckles, stay close to the tank. Mikkel, keep an eye out. If a troll shows up, hang it on your clothesline until I get back to finish it off, okay?”

Emil hurried to follow Sigrun, but Reynir intercepted him. _“Emil! Hey, before you go, I wanted to tell you—”_

“Sorry Reynir, I have to go with Sigrun! Uh...ask Tuuri or something!” Emil said. He dashed after the captain. _That was a close one!_

By the time he caught up to Sigrun’s long strides, the captain already had two dead squirrels tied to her belt. “Keep up, little viking!” She turned to look at him. “You seem kinda off today. What’s eating you? Can’t have my right-hand warrior moping around.”

“What? Nothing! No, I’m fine.” Emil didn’t want to tell Sigrun his suspicions about Reynir—he should be able to solve his own problems without getting his commanding officer involved. But she _did_ have more experience than he did, so maybe…

“Hey, Sigrun...you’ve been in the military for a long time. What would you do if—hypothetically—one of your crewmates had a grudge against you? And you wanted to fix things?”

Sigrun rubbed her chin. “Hmm. Well, usually we’d just fight it out, settle who’s the most best once and for all, then forget about it.”

“Wait, you...actually _fight_ each other?”

Sigrun nodded and took aim at another squirrel. “Sure. You have to have rules though. Usually first person to bleed loses. Ha! Gotcha, little guy.” She stooped to retrieve her kill. “Of course, that’s for knives. In wrestling whoever breaks a bone or forfeits loses. Don’t mix those two up.” She passed the squirrel to Emil and started reloading.

“You fight with knives...to settle arguments.” Suddenly Emil felt a little faint, and it wasn’t because of the cooling rodent corpse in his hand. _Note to self: Never visit Norway._ He doubted Sigrun’s advice would help him with Reynir; he’d never seen the Icelander with any kind of weapon, not even a knife. _Though I guess...I do have an extra knife he could use. Maybe he’d rather take a stab at me than have an apology. But how am I supposed to know? I don’t know anyone from Iceland, maybe they’re even crazier than the Norwegians!_

The thought was so worrying that he completely failed to notice Sigrun had gotten two more squirrels until she dumped them in his arms. “Come on, that should be enough for the stew pot. Nice to get a little exercise in. We’ll be back to fighting trolls before you know it!” She punched him in the arm—Emil nearly dropped his armload of squirrels—and turned back towards the tank.

 

* * *

 

Back at the cookfire, Mikkel tended a bubbling pot and a few flat metal sheets. When Emil got close enough, he saw that the sheets were covered in small round blobs that looked suspiciously like—

“Cookies?”

Mikkel looked up from his stirring. “Oh, you’re back.”

Emil shook his head. “But I thought you needed these!” He dropped the squirrels in a heap at Mikkel’s feet.

There was no doubt about it—Mikkel was definitely smirking. “Oh, I do, but not for cookies. It’s been far too long since we had fresh meat around here, and I wanted to see if Sigrun’s arm was on the mend. So thank you for accompanying her.”

Emil looked from the squirrels to Mikkel and back to the squirrels. “But...but I...you said…squirrel cookies.”

“Yes, that was a joke.”

“There’s nothing funny about—!”

Mikkel handed Emil a plate of steaming cookies. “Here. The first batch is done. Go ahead and do what you want with them.” He turned back to the fire, shaking his head. “Squirrel cookies. Some people will believe _anything._ ”

 

* * *

 

 

The plan was almost complete. A quick search through his personal belongings and a whispered consultation with Tuuri had given Emil everything else he needed to set it in motion. Now for the hardest part of all. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and went to the front of the tank.

“Reynir?”

The red-haired Icelander broke off mid-sentence and turned to look at him. _“Emil! Hey, now that you’re back, I wanted to—”_

“No, wait, let me go first!” Emil thrust the plate he carried at Reynir, who took it with a puzzled expression. “Tuuri, would you translate for me?”

Tuuri looked like she might laugh again, but all she did was nod.

“Thanks. Reynir, I wanted to apologize for treating you so badly the day we met—it was unprofessional of me, and also...unkind. I know what you must think of me now, but I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, for the sake of the team. Uh...and in case people in Iceland don’t apologize with gifts, you can try to stab me with the knife. But only once, and not anywhere that will leave an unsightly scar, okay?”

Tuuri was definitely trying not to laugh now. “Haha, okay... _Reynir, Emil wants to give you these things so you’ll like him. He’s very worried that you don’t feel like you’re part of the crew, and that something bad will happen because of it. He thinks cookies will help. Also, he said something crazy about the knife, but you can probably just keep it. It’s not a bad idea for you to have a weapon.”_

Reynir’s eyes lit up. _“Oh! And the note?”_ He set the plate down and unfolded the scrap of paper Emil had laid across the cookies.

Tuuri shrugged. _“I don’t know, he asked me how to write that. Hey, is something wrong?”_

Reynir was staring at the words on the paper, freckles standing out sharply against his suddenly pale skin. “Oh…” His face crumpled, and he lunged at Emil.

Emil only had time for a fragmented thought— _oh no, it didn’t work, he’s going to explode—_ before Reynir caught him in a rib-crushing hug and started bawling into his shoulder. The scrap of paper with its carefully transcribed Icelandic fluttered to the floor, landed face-up to display its message: _Fyrirgefðu mér._

Emil had thought the note would be a nice touch—something to show he was in earnest, that he wanted Reynir’s forgiveness enough to ask for it in the shepherd’s own language. He must have been wrong. The incomprehensible words coming out in between Reynir’s sobs were most likely curses. _I made everything worse!_

Tuuri was smiling, though. “He says...he doesn’t know how you knew, but that was exactly what he needed. He’s been...missing his family, and feeling bad about leaving them, but also excited to be here. Your gifts and the note made him realize he’s allowed to feel both of those things.”

Emil squinted through the tangle of Reynir’s hair. “So...wait. Did you actually translate what I said at all?”

Tuuri shrugged. “Mostly. Not the parts that make you sound crazy, though. Be honest, do you _really_ still believe he hates you?”

Reynir relaxed his grip on Emil and offered him a watery grin. Emil had to admit, Tuuri might be right. It was hard to imagine a mortal enemy would feel comfortable using Emil as a shoulder to cry on.

Reynir wiped his eyes and turned to Tuuri. _“Can I show him now?”_

Tuuri translated. “He has something to show you, Emil. He’s been trying to tell you about it all day.”

_All day? So that means...he wasn’t plotting my doom at all?_

“Uh...okay. Let’s see it.”

Reynir grinned and bent down. When he stood up, he had the kitten in his hands. _“Look! She learned a trick!”_ He set the cat on the seat and pulled a scrap of dried meat out of his pocket. When he held it in the air above her, she reared up on her hind paws and hopped. She still couldn’t reach, and the motion made her topple onto her face with an indignant squeak.

Emil laughed; he couldn’t help himself. Tuuri and Reynir were both laughing too.

_I guess there really isn’t anything to worry about. I might not understand him, but I guess Reynir has forgiven me. Everything’s going to be okay._

Reynir brought the food down so the kitten could eat it from his fingers. _“I’m glad he thought it was funny! And it’s nice of him to bring us these cookies. Emil’s such a thoughtful friend, isn’t he?”_

Tuuri grinned and bit into a cookie. _“He sure is.”_

**Author's Note:**

> In case it isn't clear, Reynir is crying because Emil's note says the same phrase ("Fyrirgefðu mér" which is Icelandic for "forgive me") as the note Reynir left for his parents. But it's happy crying, because there are cookies.


End file.
